If asked, the tall man would have to admit that he can't think of a time in recent memory he particularly wanted to take any damage. He's never had much say in the matter, though, and it's given him a relatively blasé attitude when it comes to things like pain or personal injury. Wrench regards them as a fact of life. They're hardly something worth trying to avoid when all of that only seems to delay the inevitable.

It doesn't escape his consideration that he might be fighting for the wrong side, but morals have never played that strongly into the things he's been made to do anyway. He never asked questions about the people he was sent after, and it doesn't seem worth asking now. When the first of their aggressors throws a punch at his face, Wrench knows where he stands. And while the odds don't seem to favor them, he's glad that his newfound companion is willing at least to try to hold his own.

At the end of it all he's bleeding from his lip, but he can't complain. Wrench dabs at the pool of red with the back of his hand and looks at the man who remains as if he owes him an explanation. Whatever he says, though, is greeted with a shaken head. Wrench points to his ear and shakes his head again, but the handshake is something he doesn't deny.